


lover, be good to me

by liesmyth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Experienced/Inexperienced, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Sex Magic, Tom Riddle's Diary, inappropriate use of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth
Summary: “I’ve got a new spell for you, Harry,” said Riddle. “I think you’ll like it.”





	lover, be good to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leveilleurs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leveilleurs/gifts).



There was nothing outwardly remarkable about the diary.

What mattered, Harry learned soon enough, was the boy in it. He’d found it, forgotten, under a stack of old books in a cupboard in the back of the Defence classroom, slim and stained, pages yellowed from time. That had been more than a year ago, before his OWLs, and it had been at least six months before he’d remembered about it. Then he’d written in it and discovered something extraordinary.

Harry wasn’t stupid, or naive. His father worked with cursed objects, and the diary certainly checked a few danger boxes even if there seemed to be nothing malicious about it. There had only been a boy named Tom Riddle, hidden at the bottom of his school bag, giving him advice on classes and professors and girls. He should have turned in the diary, but he hadn’t. He should have told someone, or left it where he’d found it, or just plain stopped using it, but he’d done none of those things.

Slowly, things had changed. They had become — close. Riddle had coal black eyes that seemed to stare right into his mind, and a self-possession that Harry could never hope to achieve. He bestowed on him teasing looks and knowing smiles, and Harry flushed red under his gaze.

Some six weeks in, Riddle had offered to teach him magic. Real teaching, mind you, none of those obscure spells scrawled in Harry’s own ink that he could only manage to get working one time out of three. Real teaching meant Harry going into the diary; Riddle would be there, eternally sixteen and a wealth of knowledge. It should have felt a bit like going to classes, something Harry wasn’t enthusiastic about at the best of times, but somehow it didn’t. Riddle made a much better teacher, enthralling and charismatic, and the magic was _fun_ , handy tricks and brilliant spells that Harry had never even heard of before.

And Riddle’s eyes gleamed in a way that was a bit dangerous, and his fingers were long and cold against Harry’s own, guiding his hand through the spell casting. Harry’s wand went warm sometimes when Riddle touched it, casting sparks like Muggle fireworks, and it wasn’t far from how Harry himself felt when Riddle got up close, ghost of a memory that he was.

And then came one afternoon when it was cold and foggy in Harry’s world, but in Riddle’s memories the sun shone brightly and they were out on the grass by the lake.

“I’ve got a new spell for you, Harry,” said Riddle. “I think you’ll like it.”

He tapped Harry's shoulder lightly with the top of his wand, and nothing happened.

And then he leaned in with feline grace, and brushed Harry’s cheek with the back of his cold fingers.

Harry shuddered.

It was ecstasy, or near enough. Harry’s whole body sang with it. The touch rippled through him like a pebble into a clean spring pool, and every crashing wave was endless pleasure that shook him to the core. He shivered and screamed under the cloudless sky, fingers twisting among the green blades of glass, head thrown back against the crushing pleasure.

It was some time before he brought himself under control, and through half-opened eyes he saw Riddle’s sharpest smile.

“What—” his voice broke. Harry tried to sit up, still shivering with the aftermath of the impossible sensation, and felt the wetness under his school robes. His face flamed red. He’d come in his pants like— like a…

“A spell,” said Riddle. “I told you you’d like it.”

Harry couldn’t meet his eyes, but looking away was impossible. Riddle was eye-catching and shimmering, and more than Harry could possibly have imagined. And the way he was staring, content and smug and _hungry_ , made Harry think of things he’d never dared to consider outside of half-formed dreams.

Suddenly there wasn’t enough air; his robes were heavy and stifling, and worst of all rough on the skin in a way that made Harry feel more conscious of his body than he could remember since he’d been twelve. They rubbed at his skin when he moved, or even breathed, and the weight of the breeze suddenly was intolerable. He needed—

“Strip.”

Harry’s hands were halfway to the collar of his robe before the meaning of the words had even registered. He blinked.

“You’ll feel better,” said Riddle, and Harry nodded. It was only logical that he should get rid of this unbearable feeling of cloth on his skin. He stood up on trembling legs in front of Riddle, half-sprawled on the green grass, king of the castle.

He threw his robe on the ground, and his uniform vest. The shirt went too, and the bloody tie, and perhaps he could breathe a little easier. Riddle took him in with unblinking eyes, still smiling that small smile of his. Harry’s hands flew to his belt when he felt his cock through his trousers, half-hard.

“I’m—” He felt his face burn, a blush creeping down his neck to his exposed chest.

“ _Strip_ ,” Riddle repeated, and so Harry kicked off his shoes and took off trousers and soiled underwear, until he was naked in the grass in front of Tom Riddle, except for his socks. That made him feel even stupider when he realised.

“Come on,” Riddle said. “Get yourself off.”

He waited, expectant. That strange spell was still there, every physical sensation amplified through the lens of pleasure and pulsating through his body over and over until it was almost too much to bear.

The first touch of his hand on his cock hand him almost shouting, but it was _good_ — too much almost, more than Harry had thought could ever be possible. His legs were shaking and his flushed chest covered in sweat, and Riddle’s eyes were as dark as the night, bearing into his soul. Riddle’s lips were… Harry bit his own lip with his teeth and pumped his cock with his hand, closing his eyes under the weight of Riddle’s piercing gaze. But there was no blocking out Riddle’s voice, cool and detached and inebriating in the worst way, telling him that he was doing well, almost there, and wasn’t Harry glad he’d done as he’d been told?

When he came he let himself fall to his knees in the grass, breath heaving in his chest. His eyes fell closed.

“Well done,” Riddle said, and there was something in his voice that made Harry beam, praise spreading through him like sparks. Riddle’s hand come to lie in his hair, patting his head gently, and Harry jumped at the sudden touch. It was electric, still, and just the simple contact sent small shivers down his spine.

“This is a pleasure spell. One of many,” said Riddle, in a voice that implied that he would eventually work his way down the list and try them all. That was splendid news to Harry, inebriated as he felt, but he was also bone tired. He whined as he let himself be shuffled into Riddle’s lap, Riddle’s cold fingers playing with his hair, stroking the back of his neck in a possessive caress.

“It wears off after a few hours, or after you’ve come a few times. Or there’s another way — I can show you, if you’d like.”

Harry did. Because it was Riddle suggesting it, in that low enthralling voice like sweet liquor, and because he’d never before felt like this, so desperately aroused and near exhausted at the same time, wanting Riddle desperately until he was too dizzy with pleasure to even do anything about it. Riddle’s voice held such promise and his forehead was pressed on Riddle’s lap, smelling the clean scent of him and feeling the shape of his hard cock under the clothes, pressing against Harry’s cheek.

He nodded. Riddle’s hand caressed the side of his neck, his face and mouth. Riddle traced the seam of Harry’s lips with two of his fingers, then pushed slowly inside.

“You’re going to get me off. Can you do that, Harry?”

It was phrased like a question, but there was no doubt he'd refuse. Harry nodded, and let Riddle position him again — with his knees on the grass and his hands on either side of Riddle’s thighs, Riddle sat up on his knees with one hand on Harry’s neck, keeping his face steady.

“Open your mouth.”

 Riddle didn’t undress, but he pushed his clothes aside and pushed his cock past Harry’s lips, and Harry closed his eyes and breathed, legs shaking.

He’d never done this before. The taste was sharp and odd, but Riddle’s hand was on his bare shoulder now, gentle and soothing, and there were other faint touches all over his naked body like tendrils of wind and mist, stroking his back and his chest and the curve of his arse, circling the root of his cock like Harry’s own hand had just done earlier. Riddle’s cock was heavy in his mouth — Harry would have thought it’d be so difficult by looking at it, but it felt large and awkward when he swallowed around it, pressing down on his tongue, against the roof of his mouth.

Riddle’s fingers traced the contours of Harry’s lips, sliding alongside his cock and back out to leave a wet path on Harry’s cheek.

“You are very beautiful like this, Harry,” he said, his voice hypnotic like magic. “Open up a bit more, now.” He pressed Harry’s head down, pushing up into his mouth, and it was a bit uncomfortable but the tingling feeling of Riddle’s touch was perfect.

“I always thought you’d look your best with a cock in your mouth, you know.” He patted gently behind Harry’s ear, caressing his cheek. Oddly, for once, Riddle’s touch was almost warm. The spell was still caressing his body with burning hot tendrils, tracing the back of his thighs and the shaft of his cock and his balls until Harry thought he might even come again, limbs shaking in exhaustion and anticipation. Riddle’s cock filled his mouth, wet with spit and bitter with pre-come, and then Riddle’s hand returned to the back of his neck, strong as steel.

“Perfect,” said Riddle — he sighed, nails digging into Harry’s skin as he came into his mouth. Harry coughed, shivering, and when he opened his eyes next the world looked sharper, or perhaps it was Harry’s perception of it that had changed, now that tendrils of magic had cleared away like mist under the sun.

He was sprawled on his back on something soft that certainly wasn’t grass, the bitter taste of Riddle’s come still in the back of his throat.  He felt — drained, half-empty, free from that consuming arousal and yet still trembling with the memory of it.

Harry turned his head. Next to him, on the pillow, was the diary. And Tom Riddle’s voice in his mind. _You_ _’re perfect_ , it echoed through him, filling him with warm praise. _Harry. I_ _’ll take care of you._


End file.
